


Birthday Girls

by Kendarrr



Category: Glee
Genre: Birthday, Birthday Party, F/F, Party Games, Spin the Bottle, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:14:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24431152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kendarrr/pseuds/Kendarrr
Summary: Rachel did not care about celebrating birthdays much until Quinn invited her to her 17th birthday party.
Relationships: Rachel Berry/Quinn Fabray
Comments: 11
Kudos: 314





	1. Quinn's Birthday

**Author's Note:**

> This is my response to an anon on tumblr who asked: What kind of birthdays do you think Quinn and Rachel would like? It’s so weird how they never showed the Glee kids celebrating any or having parties.
> 
> Since Quinn doesn't canonically have a birthday, I decided to use Dianna Agron's.
> 
> This fic has underage drinking.

When Rachel entered the choir room that late afternoon in the middle of April, the first thing she noticed was that everyone held a piece of cream-coloured cardstock with a white envelope. The second thing she noticed was how Quinn approached her while carrying the aforementioned envelope, and how she then handed it to Rachel – with a loose wrist, bored.

“What is this?” Rachel asked, not taking the envelope pinched between Quinn’s thumb and forefinger.

“Open it and find out, Berry,” the blonde huffed and rolled her eyes.

She did and feared the worst. Feared that it was a photoshopped image of her naked and riding a horse or something to that effect, but to her surprise, it was a card – an invitation. Written on it in gold lettering was the following:

_You are cordially invited to Lucy Quinn Fabray’s 17th birthday party._

Rachel blinked and then looked up at Quinn whose eyes never left her features. “I’m… _I’m_ invited to your birthday party?”

“You and the rest of the glee club,” Quinn muttered. “It’s not like I have other friends to invite or whatever.” After a beat of Rachel simply staring at the card in front of her, still in disbelief, Quinn sighed. “You’re not going to make me _beg_ for you to come, are you? Because you have another thing coming.”

“No, no! Not at all,” Rachel giggled. She clutched the invitation to her chest. She felt warmth permeating through her body – a strange feeling, sudden and new. “Thank you. I _will_ go.”

“You better,” Quinn muttered as she spun in her heel and resumed her seat beside Brittany. Rachel watched her depart and smiled to herself as she sat at the front row with Kurt. She tucked the invitation into a pocket of her planner. But first, she leafed ahead a few weeks to write on the blank space of Friday, April 30th: Quinn’s Birthday Party.

Rachel snuck a glance up at the blonde in question once again – just to doubly check that this was not a prank, that Quinn was not snickering behind Rachel’s back. Besides, how could it be a joke? She glanced at Kurt’s invite and it was literally the same as the one she had. As she looked behind her, she stiffened when her eyes locked with Quinn’s.

Who was directly looking at _her_.

Rachel seemed to suck in a breath and gasp at the same time. She choked on air and faced forward once again. Kurt looked at her in concern and patted her back.

“What in the world is wrong with you?”

“I just breathed wrong, that’s all!”

“Right,” he side-eyed her before returning to his conversation with Mercedes.

Rachel stared at her palms. The back of her neck crawled with the knowledge that Quinn was looking at _her_ , positively _staring_ like she wanted to ignite Rachel on fire with nothing but a look. _Well, guess what, Quinn Fabray,_ Rachel thought, _you’re succeeding._

+

What do you even get for someone who seemingly had everything?

Rachel scrolled through yet another list article detailing gifts ‘she’ would like. Who even was this ‘she’? This ambiguous woman with tastes so elusive that it spanned to everywhere and nowhere. The articles Rachel read thus far listed aromatherapy items like essential oils and diffusers. There were skincare and makeup products, but judging from how crystal clear Quinn’s skin was, how perfect her eyeliner, she had no need for them. Perfume, but Quinn already smelled good. Or heart-shaped necklaces beyond Rachel’s budget of fifty dollars. Not to mention… vaguely suggestive.

She closed her laptop and sighed. It was fine – she had time to do further research to help her decide.

+

Rachel reached a level of desperation over Quinn’s birthday gift that it shaved time off her sleep. She lay awake in the middle of the night, eyes closed, brain mentally browsing web pages for a spark of a gift idea. Her desperation reached a boiling point when, with seven days left before Quinn’s birthday, she decided that it was time.

She approached Santana.

“Gifts for Quinn? What’s your budget? Better be over twenty bucks, Berry – don’t be a cheap ass like Puck.”

“Of course not,” Rachel huffed. “Frankly, I’m offended that you think I value Quinn so cheaply.”

“Good,” Santana smirked. “Well, Quinn likes coffee. But don’t get her a French press or anything – me and Britts already got her one of those. Rose gold, too,” she said, puffing up her chest. Proud about it.

“Oh,” Rachel said.

“What ‘oh’,” Santana mimicked with an eyeroll.

“You’re doing a joint gift?”

Santana narrowed her eyes. “Yeah, what about it?”

Rachel shook her head. “Nothing, nothing. It’s lovely that you’re no longer ashamed to be a couple with Brittany, but aren’t you friends with Quinn first before being a couple? Not that the amount of presents received during one’s birthday is indicative of the value of friendship or anything…”

“Screw you, Berry,” Santana mumbled as she whipped out her phone. “Anyway, Quinn likes coffee. She won’t say no to a Mars bar. Or, you know, there’s nothing wrong with asking her for what she wants. Just – for god’s sake, don’t get her a gift card.” She turned around, eyes locked on her phone. She walked down the hallway without looking up as the crowds parted to stay out of her way, leaving Rachel alone.

She found Quinn in the girl’s bathroom washing her hands at the start of the lunch period. She was not actively looking for the blonde but she was relieved to find her before the school day ended and she ran out of time – after all, who knew how long shipping would take for any gift she purchased online? “Oh, there you are.”

Quinn looked at Rachel through the mirror while she shook the water from her hands over the sink. “What’s up?”

“What do you want for your birthday?” Rachel blurted out. “I know it takes the surprise away if you know what I’m going to get you – but if you give me a list of potential items to purchase, then you won’t know _exactly_ what I will get and I think that’s as good as it being a surprise, but I would rather get something I know you’d love rather than be original or have it be a complete surprise only for you to hate it.”

Quinn chuckled. “I’m a simple girl, really,” she said as she approached Rachel. “I like coffee,” she supplied.

“Santana mentioned it.”

“I also like books. I wouldn’t mind more records. You know what artists I like, right?”

Rachel nodded. “A lot of old timey jazz. Nancy Sinatra and the like.”

“But if all else fails, I won’t say no to some fancy chocolate.”

By then, Quinn stood a mere hands’ breadth apart from Rachel. She looked at the dark-haired girl expectantly, but in that moment, all Rachel could see was the gold in Quinn’s eyes, the fine shape of her brow. The intensity of her gaze made Rachel’s stomach churn in a perfect blend of pain and queasy, unsure delight.

“Rachel?”

“H-hmm?”

“You’re standing in front of the hand dryer.”

“Oh!” Rachel squeaked and stepped aside. “Sorry!”

“It’s okay,” Quinn laughed.

The blast of air drowned out Rachel’s embarrassment. She looked at Quinn’s profile and had to look away so soon because her stomach felt weird again. “Thank you for the list,” Rachel said.

“Don’t worry about it. I don’t really care about presents much,” Quinn tugged the door to the bathroom open and together they walked towards the cafeteria where the glee club sat together to eat lunch. “I mean, I do. I would be sad if I don’t get _anything_ like any person with a birthday, but don’t think too hard about it.”

+

There was still a day of classes to go through on the day of Quinn’s party, though as soon as Rachel saw her, she sprinted up to the blonde and engulfed her in a tight hug. “Happy birthday!”

Quinn’s grunt transformed into a giggle. “Thanks.” She squeezed Rachel’s hand as soon as the smaller girl released her. “You’re not going to give me birthday beats, are you?”

“No – that is violence and I cannot abide by it. Will birthday hugs suffice?”

“If it’s anything like the hug you just gave me, birthday hugs seem pretty violent too.” Quinn grinned.

“Sorry, that was just me being enthusiastic. I like celebrating other people’s birthdays,” Rachel looked into her bag and retrieved one of her many presents for Quinn. “Here’s my first gift. You’ll get the rest later.”

Quinn thanked her again. “It’s chocolate, isn’t it?” She opened it and immediately broke off a piece to pop into her mouth. “Mmm, tasty. Thanks, Rachel.”

Rachel watched Quinn leave with the image of her tongue darting out to cradle the sphere of the chocolate embedded, seared into the surface of her brain. She blinked the sight away and proceeded with the rest of her day in a constant battle of wits to not to keep thinking about Quinn.

When she found herself at Quinn’s doorstep a few minutes after the time marked on the invitation, Rachel hesitated. She was too early, she knew it, but she had no idea what was better – sitting on the foot of her bed or pacing the length of her bedroom, feeling the anxiety course through her body like waves of ants upon her skin, or feel the same sensations but do so in Quinn’s house, perhaps with her mother present? Rachel certainly thought the latter would be liveable, which explained her presence at Quinn’s front stoop sixteen minutes after seven o’clock.

Quinn answered the door, and the relief she felt when Quinn did not seem surprised upon seeing her was paroxystic. In fact, she looked… happy? Delighted, even.

“Hi, come in,” Quinn opened the door wider and stepped aside, and in walked Rachel. She had never been in Quinn’s house and it was as she expected it to be. Wood panelling. Gold-trimmed chandeliers. Even the panel for the lights were of gold plate. Antique furnishings. A coffee table that looked like it was salvaged from a European castle. Upon a sideboard was a tray of crystal decanters half-filled with amber and chestnut-hued liquids. On a cream-coloured armchair sat an older woman who looked like Quinn. “Mom, this is Rachel.”

“Ah, yes, I remember when you sang during your competitions. You have a lovely voice,” Judy rose to shake Rachel’s hand.

“You have a lovely home, Mrs. Fabray,” Rachel said.

“Thank you,” she smiled. She disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Quinn and Rachel alone in the living room.

“Um, so happy birthday again,” Rachel giggled as she hugged Quinn again. “Here are the rest of your presents.”

Quinn looked into the bag and grinned. “You got me single-origin, ethically-sourced coffee beans? Must’ve been expensive.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Rachel huffed.

“I know how much these cost, Rachel. But thank you. I can’t wait to drink it tomorrow.”

It was strange, sitting with Quinn in her own living room, talking about every single thing in the companionable quiet that in the back of her mind she always associated with Quinn. How there would be lapses of silence, but Rachel’s brain remained fitfully blank – not scrambling for another thing to say. Her observations came to her organically – the photograph of Quinn with her sister, around the age of ten, holding a black bass between the two of them. The piano at the corner, polished until gleaming, until it absorbed all light. The sliding glass doors that led into the backyard, with its raised beds covered in red cedar chips, the infamous hot tub covered with purple tarp.

“Was I early?” Rachel blurted. “What am I saying – I know I am. It’s just… I couldn’t pace in my room anymore since I was starting to wear my carpet down – ”

“It’s fine, I don’t mind,” Quinn said. “You did come a few minutes late, though,” she teased.

“Late, but not quite so fashionably,” Rachel giggled.

Soon enough, the rest of the glee club arrived one by one, sometimes in pairs. Rachel remained sitting while Quinn rose to greet them with hugs and laughter. Piles of presents that Quinn did not open yet gathered on a side table in the dining room where the food was set up.

Everyone gathered in the dining room, living room, and kitchen, holding plates as they ate standing up. Rachel nearly burst into tears when she saw that Quinn specifically had a plate of vegan food specifically _for her_.

“Well, what do you expect? You’re the only vegan I know,” Quinn huffed, looking away.

“I just thought – ”

“That I’d let you starve?”

Rachel’s shoulders slackened. “Actually, yes.”

Quinn smirked. “Good thing I can still surprise you,” she said.

Rachel washed her hands and in the middle of drinking a tall glass of mango juice, Santana jerked her head towards the direction of the living room that was currently void of people. With mild trepidation, Rachel approached her. Belatedly noticed that Santana had a hand tucked behind her back. “What do you have behind you?”

“Relax, Berry,” Santana rolled her eyes and revealed a plastic tiara that read ‘Birthday Girl’ in a looping script, spray painted a dull silver. “It’s kind of tradition that the birthday girl is forced to wear this tacky piece of crap. Usually Brittany or myself wrestle Quinn into it but this year I wanted to try something new.”

Judging from Santana’s impish grin, her new plan involved Rachel.

“You’re going to be the one who puts this on her. She won’t expect it if it’s you.”

Rachel nodded in immediate agreement. “I’ll do it.”

Santana smirked. “Good,” she handed Rachel the plastic tiara. “I’m going to tell Quinn that you’re looking for her and you’ll probably have at least two minutes before someone comes looking.”

She watched Santana leave, the plastic crown in her grasp. A feeble attempt at envy started inside her, but she talked herself out of it. _Of course_ Quinn would have inside jokes and traditions with Santana and Brittany. They had been friends for a while. It made sense that they had their own language. If anything, Rachel should be glad to be privy to it now – to have the opportunity to be part of the ongoing tradition.

Quinn appeared in the living room and Rachel hastily tucked her hand behind her. “Santana said you were looking for me?” She asked, a little breathless from laughing.

Rachel nodded and walked up to Quinn – and Quinn met her halfway. They stood in the middle of the carpeted floor, their toes nearly touching. Rachel peered up at Quinn with wide, imploring eyes. Alarm sparked in Quinn’s eyes but she did not move away.

“Rachel, what – ”

“Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“Trust me.”

Maybe Rachel should think more of the fact that Quinn’s eyelids immediately fell shut. Maybe she should note the tension that roiled in the room, the way Quinn held her breath, her back straight as if propped up by a pole, or by expectation. Rachel’s empty hand grasped Quinn’s nape, found the skin to be warm and soft, with curled tendrils of her darker blonde hair.

Rachel’s eyes darted to Quinn’s mouth. She swallowed hard. “Keep your eyes closed, okay?”

“O-okay…”

With one smooth movement, Rachel eased the crown on Quinn’s head. Heat blossomed in her chest. The deception completed, she stepped back and Quinn’s eyes shot open.

“I should’ve known,” she said, her voice hoarse. “Santana put you up to this?”

In the distance, they heard Santana cackle. “Sure did! Good job, Rachel!”

“Sorry,” Rachel said, a vague unease curdled her stomach. “Were you expecting something else?” She asked, unable to hold back the hope in her voice.

“No. I should know by now to expect nothing,” Quinn muttered as she looked away, but Rachel knew hurt when it avoided her gaze. She reached for Quinn, but the birthday girl, now clad in her tiara, spun to return to the dining room. Left Rachel feeling a new form of gutted. Like she stood before a crossroad and belatedly knew that she took the wrong route.

That she could have kissed Quinn but she _didn’t_. After the fact, Rachel could say with utter confidence that Quinn looked like that was what she expected. But like a fool, a nervous, insecure fool, she didn’t kiss Quinn as if their life was a movie. Instead, she would rather stay in that limbo where even she was unsure whether she wanted Quinn or _to be_ Quinn. To stay where it was safe.

Was it better to be in wanting? Or should she have risked it all?

Rachel sighed, irritated by her own indecision.

+

Once everyone finished eating Quinn’s birthday spread, they all gathered around her while Judy lit all seventeen candles poked into her slab of a birthday cake. They sang happy birthday to Quinn but no one began at the same time. Sam crooned operatically, Brittany sang with a country lilt. Tina drawled in a low bass note while Finn beatboxed. Rachel was horrified but said nothing since Quinn laughed so much until she was red in the face.

The blonde drew in a breath as everyone stretched the final ‘happy birthday to youuuuuu!’ for as long as their lungs would allow. Quinn met Rachel’s look as she blew her candles out in one stream of breath.

“Of course you’d win that note-extending contest,” Mike said, nudging Rachel with his hip. “Miss ‘I can sing Don’t Rain on My Parade in my sleep and never once leave REM sleep’. No need to flex on us, geez.”

Quinn doled out slices of cake, but when it came to Rachel she said apologetically, “sadly, this cake isn’t vegan, but I did find a bakery that sold vegan cupcakes. It’s in that box.” She nodded towards a plain white box and sure enough there were half a dozen beautifully-frosted vanilla cupcakes inside.

“You didn’t have to,” Rachel insisted.

“Too late for that now. You can take it home with you – I don’t think I’d like them.”

“Because it’s vegan?”

“Because it has no eggs and milk and what even is that frosting if it’s not cream cheese? Of course because it’s vegan!”

“Have you _tried_ it?”

Quinn frowned. “No.”

“Try it.” Rachel picked one up and offered it to Quinn, who stared at Rachel’s offering with hesitation.

“If you smash this cake into my face, I’m never talking to you again.”

“What? Why would I do that?”

Quinn smiled. “It’s nothing, Berry.” She leaned in and took a bite. Chewed, and winced. “Texturally, it’s weird. Also it has a weird smell.”

Rachel playfully rolled her eyes. “You get used to it.”

At some point while everyone ate their slices of cake, Judy excused herself upstairs, kissed Quinn’s head, and wished everyone a good time. Silence blanketed the dining room while everyone listened to the sound of Judy’s footsteps recede until they heard a bedroom door close. With a collective breath, everyone seemed to relax even further.

“Thank god I can finally remove this crap attempt at modesty,” Santana shrugged off her cardigan to reveal the thin straps, the plunging neckline of her ruby red dress. “To the basement!”

She led the way downstairs like the pied piper of teenagers, followed by everyone. Sam carried the rest of the cake and Puck disappeared outside to return with a crate of booze. Rachel blinked and stayed frozen, unsure of what to do. Was the party… over? Was this the second part that she was not invited to? She swallowed the rest of the cupcake that now felt dry and crumbling in her mouth. She downed a glass of juice and wiped the corners of her lips. Kurt carried an armful of Quinn’s gifts, the rest carried by Mercedes, as Mike carried Artie down the steps, with Finn bringing his wheelchair.

Quinn turned towards Rachel. “Are you coming down or not?”

“I-I wasn’t sure if… I didn’t think – ”

Santana’s head emerged from downstairs, arms held out to help Quinn with the cans of ginger ale. “Don’t think, for all our sakes,” she said before disappearing once again.

“It’s the segment of the party where we don’t have my mom looming over us,” Quinn said. “Yeah, there’s alcohol, but you don’t have to drink.”

“It’s not that, although thank you for that reassurance. I just thought I wasn’t invited – ”

“Is it just me or didn’t I give you an invitation three weeks ago?”

“You did.”

“That means you’re invited to the afterparty too,” Quinn said. She held out her hand and Rachel took it.

The basement was nothing like the main floor of Quinn’s house. Where upstairs was all gilt in gold and everything was in a wood tone, the basement was more modern. The lights were white and could be dimmed. The sectional couch was a navy blue. A flatscreen TV was mounted on the wall where Finn was already playing some racing game with Tina and Brittany. A table covered with a white cloth held a bowl of punch and plastic cups. Rows of spirits – vodka, gin, rum, whiskey – were lined up in a straight row.

Quinn released Rachel’s hand and headed to the punch bowl. “This better not be spiked.”

“It’s not,” Puck said. “Yet.”

She turned to Rachel. “It’s your choice to drink or not.”

“Are you?”

“A little,” Quinn shrugged as she sipped from her cup. “You wanna try?”

Rachel nodded. “Oh, but I have to drive home.”

“No you don’t,” Santana grinned and twirled Rachel’s car keys around her finger. She threw it in a lockbox, closed the lock, and threw the keys to the lockbox into an empty urn.

“When did you get my keys?” Rachel shrieked.

“Picked your purse while you were imagining feeding Quinn a piece of your future wedding cake,” she sneered. “No one’s leaving this house because everyone is getting sloshed. Or – I guess you don’t have to get drunk, no pressure, but you’re still not leaving. I don’t want that in my conscience.”

“I didn’t know you _had_ a conscience,” Tina quipped.

“So? Still want to try?” Quinn licked her lips and offered Rachel her cup again, where the rim held a pinkish tinge from the shade of lipstick Quinn bore on her lips. Rachel took the cup and swallowed a small mouthful. The smell of gin first hit her nose, but it was drowned by the peach flavour which would have been sweet and near-cloying had it not been thinned out by ginger ale.

Rachel cleared her throat. “I’ll have what you’re having.”

“You want a Brittany special then,” Quinn took her cup back and approached Brittany who, after beating Finn and Tina black and blue in Mario Kart, took over the role of bartender. She looked like she was having the time of her life pouring liquids into a jigger, shaking the shaker like they were maracas, and dancing.

“I have no idea what I’m doing!” Brittany beamed as she poured out a frothy drink for Rachel. “But it’s good, right?”

Rachel gave her a thumbs up and sat in the circle along with everyone else while Santana, who at this point was obviously the master of ceremonies, explained the order of events. “First thing’s first is we’ll play some Never Have I Ever to get us buzzing. Then maybe some Paranoia to get the tension up in here. Maybe some Truth or Dare, I don’t know, I’m fluid – ”

“Like your sexuality?” Kurt shouted.

“Sure, but I explicitly like Brittany now. What was I saying? Oh, right. We will finish off with some good old fashioned Spin the Bottle,” Santana looked at Quinn who nodded. “With the birthday girl’s approval, we shall begin.” She grinned and rubbed her hands together.

Other than the party at her house a few months back, Rachel had little by way of experience with these types of games. She only knew the games from watching TV, and even then, it did not prepare her for how much of a roller-coaster of emotion it was. First of all, the initial ‘never have I evers’ were obviously pointed to get Quinn to drink, like, say, never have I ever had a birthday party on April 30th.

Quinn rolled her eyes and drank anyway.

And then it followed that the juicier bits of her friends’ psyches were slowly unveiled. “Never have I ever kissed a girl – and liked it,” Tina said with a snicker.

To Rachel’s surprise, everyone drank. Everyone.

Even Quinn.

And, it seemed, that Quinn was shocked that _she_ drank too.

“Brittany,” Quinn said, by way of explanation.

“Someone from theatre camp. I don’t really remember her name.” Rachel said with a blush. “And it was for a role so it didn’t really count.”

“But was she a girl?” Tina asked, and Rachel nodded. “Did you like it?” Rachel’s face reddened and she nodded. “Then _drink!_ ”

Even though Rachel already drank, she did so again. Everyone cheered and hooted.

Everything was a blur after that. Rachel already knew how much of a lightweight she was so she alternated between the Brittany special and a glass of water that always reappeared beside her, magically filled. At some point, someone grabbed the empty bottle of Absolut vodka and situated it in the middle of the circle, thus ending all other games to start Spin the Bottle.

Rachel had vivid memories of the first time she played this game and it was a bit of a relief that Blaine was not around to further relive the moment, though Kurt’s jabs about it provided more than enough of a reminder. The first to spin the bottle was Kurt, and it landed on Mike, who blushed, but conceded.

“It’s what the all-powerful bottle wants,” he reasoned.

“I don’t want no flimsy peck on the lips neither,” Santana shouted. She was _drunk_ , and everyone knew it. “I want a full five seconds! Maybe a bit of tongue if you’re so inclined!”

“Santana, please stop yelling,” Quinn sighed, pulling her by the hand to sit back down.

Kurt blushed as Mike crawled towards him. Mike cupped the back of Kurt’s neck and kissed him. Everyone counted up to five, and Rachel was _sure_ she saw tongue.

When Mike returned to his position in the circle, Kurt was the reddest they had ever seen him.

Then it was all too suddenly Rachel’s turn. If this was a teen movie, it would land on the worst person, or the best person – though she had no idea who those would be. She spun the bottle, it wobbled between the Unholy Trinity.

Ultimately landing on Brittany.

A middling person, basically. Of little consequence, in the grand scheme of things.

“Yes!” Brittany spared no minute climbing on top of Rachel’s lap. Her long limbs wrapped around Rachel’s neck and without further ado, kissed her. It was different from kissing that girl from theatre camp, that much was certain. Brittany kissed with her whole body. Pressed the warmth of her against Rachel’s torso. The tall blonde rolled her hips once and Rachel’s hands flew to her waist to keep her still. There was tongue. There was a moan, but Rachel had no idea where it came from.

“Hey, hey, hey! That’s enough!” Santana yelled. “What if I kiss _your_ blonde like _that_ , Berry?”

Brittany pulled back and grinned, her tongue darting out to lick her lips. Without meaning to, without thought, Rachel looked at Quinn and in her eyes saw something unfathomable. Brittany clambered off Rachel’s lap and said nothing through Rachel’s dazed expression as she spun the bottle and continued the game. But Rachel felt tipsy, in a good way. The buzz no longer just lingered in her brain. It traversed her whole body, filled her with a warmth that was a degree above discomfort. She drank more water and sighed. Her stomach churned. Quinn still looked at her.

Eventually, the games died down. Santana was the first one to fall asleep, arms and legs sprawled in the middle of the floor. Everyone seemed to collectively agree that it was time to get ready to sleep, so one by one they went to the bathroom and did their business.

“I really wish you mentioned that this had the potential for a sleepover. Then I would have brought my kit,” Rachel told Quinn as they climbed the stairs to use the bathroom upstairs.

“Sorry,” Quinn yawned. “Next time there’s a weekend party anywhere, just assume that it’ll be a sleepover.”

Rachel washed her face and patted her skin dry. She rinsed with mouthwash – the best she could do in these dire times – and finished the rest of her nightly ritual in its barest mode. When she stepped out, Quinn tossed her a bundle: shirt and a pair of shorts. Rachel changed into them and together with Quinn headed back downstairs. Everyone was sprawled on the floor and on the couch. Rachel and Quinn both found a spot behind Mercedes and Sam. The only light that remained came from the laundry room which allowed them to navigate the lake of bodies without stepping on someone’s foot or hand.

Snores filled Quinn’s basement as the clock struck past three in the morning. Rachel nestled into the throw pillow. Her bare legs touched Quinn’s and neither girl flinched from the contact. Rachel looked up at Quinn who was staring at the ceiling, eyes glassy but focused.

“Thanks for inviting me to your party, Quinn. As you can imagine, it’s the first birthday party I’ve been to, and only the second party with underage drinking – which I don’t condone but it’s a fact of life, it seems. No thanks to Hollywood.”

“I didn’t think you’d be the kind of person who would want alcohol and rowdy people in your birthday party anyway,” Quinn murmured.

They faced each other in the low light. “Well, I want what any girl wants – a memorable birthday because of friends, not because your grandfather fell asleep face first into his potato salad,” Quinn giggled and Rachel smiled. “My birthdays have never been much of a party since people fall asleep during.”

“Old people fall asleep all the time though, so it’s not your fault,” Quinn pointed out. “That’s on them.”

Rachel giggled and a beat of silence interspersed with Puck’s snores settled between them.

“Thanks for coming to my party,” Quinn said in the quiet. “It just wouldn’t be the same without you, you know?”

“You’re welcome,” Rachel said in the darkness. Dark it may be, but there was sufficient light that she could see the line of Quinn’s nose, her brow, her jaw. Her mouth as it curled into a smile.

+

Quinn jolted awake when a rogue limb flailed and landed across her stomach. She wheezed and shoved Sam’s arm off her. Sitting up, she looked around and saw the vague ghost of an outline of Rachel’s body on the blanket beside her. Rubbing her sore stomach and still mildly nauseous, Quinn staggered to the bathroom. She heaved over the toilet bowl, relieved that nothing was coming out. She swallowed some Tylenol and chugged water down her parched throat.

She took the stairs, one at a time. With each step, she heard voices louder and louder. The smell of frying bacon and eggs, the scrape of a spatula against a pan.

Rachel sat on the breakfast island, chatting with Judy who busied herself with the stove. “Ah, there she is! You are now seventeen and a day old,” Rachel declared. “Coffee?”

Quinn nodded. “But I’m going to try the beans you got me first.”

She grabbed the French press Brittany gave her and rinsed it with hot water while turning the kettle on. She took her hand-cranked bean grinder from a cupboard and the package of beans from Rachel while she and her mother watched her with amusement. “What?” Quinn demanded.

“Nothing, you just look so… artisanal,” Rachel giggled.

Quinn huffed and weighed out the beans. Gave them a sniff, and then fed them into the barrel as she ground them up. She emptied the drawer of the grinder into the press, then poured the freshly-boiled water over it. She set a timer and grabbed a piece of bacon. “You’re looking at me funny again,” she told Rachel.

“When Santana told me you like coffee, I didn’t think you _like_ coffee. Are you a coffee snob, Quinn?”

“No,” she muttered. “I just like the motions of making coffee. This is my first time trying fancy and expensive beans – usually I just get them from the bulk bins at the grocery store.”

One by one, the glee club woke up and climbed the stairs. Some of them went straight for the coffee, some, like Finn, went straight for the eggs. Judy struggled to keep up with the demand, but she seemed to enjoy feeding the crowd that gathered in her kitchen.

Eventually, they finished with breakfast and they all returned downstairs to help Quinn clean up her basement. Rachel straightened the couch cushions while Kurt gathered all the plastic cups. Puck took all the bottles of booze back into his truck and Mike swept the floor. Santana popped the rest of the balloons and chucked them in the garbage bin.

They said their goodbyes to Quinn, greeting her with one last happy birthday. Rachel lingered until she was the only one remaining. She engulfed Quinn into another hug which the blonde returned. They stood on Quinn’s foyer, Rachel’s chin against the dip of Quinn’s shoulder.

Quinn had no idea how long they stood there holding each other but eventually, Rachel pulled away. “I have to go home. My dads are probably looking for me.”

“Crap, did you tell them you were sleeping over?”

“I did, but it was sudden and I never do sudden, so they might interrogate me once I step foot inside our home.”

“Sorry,” Quinn said, sheepish.

“Don’t be,” Rachel said. “I’m not.”

With her hands poised on Quinn’s shoulders, Rachel kissed Quinn on the cheek – brief, like a butterfly landing only to be spooked and darted away. Rachel spun on her heels, said another ‘bye Quinn!’ and disappeared down the driveway and into her car.

Quinn leaned against the doorframe and watched Rachel drive away, until her car vanished further down the street. Her mom came up behind her. “Did you have a good party, Quinnie?”

She smiled to herself and nodded. The spot on her cheek where Rachel’s lips landed tingled something fierce. “I did.”


	2. Rachel's Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eight months later – it's now Rachel's birthday. She had no plans since to her, it was just a day like any other.

With classes over for the rest of the year, Rachel buckled into the fact that she would not be seeing her friends for three weeks until school started up again in the new year. The least of it all was that Rachel’s birthday was the first day of winter break – the Saturday – since the last school day was on the 17th of December.

Even when Rachel’s birthday was the following day, no one from glee club remembered – no one bothered to offer an early birthday greeting. Otherwise, nothing was amiss with her friends. Though when she walked in the choir room on Friday afternoon, Quinn was addressing those already there – which, to Rachel’s surprise, was everyone _but_ her. Quinn ceased talking speaking in hushed tones when she walked in and immediately took her seat.

“Did I miss something?” Rachel asked as she approached the risers.

“No, Quinn was just asking us what she should do about how fuckin’ whipped she is,” Santana snickered.

“Oh – well – ”

“It’s _nothing_ , Rachel,” Quinn said in her usual calm tone, though she did look flustered – something she rarely was. And she pointedly avoided Rachel’s gaze, as opposed to all those times she caught Quinn staring at her. But if Quinn did not want to tell Rachel anything, then… How different was it from the past? How silly of her to think that things were starting to turn around for them. It took all of Rachel’s ability not to sniff as she sat, her back towards Quinn and the rest of the glee club.

Rachel sighed as she drove home after the brief glee club meeting (an excuse for Mr. Schue to appease his upcoming loneliness without his favourite students for the following weeks). This had always been the case – either her birthday was at the beginning of the winter break when everyone was sick of seeing the same faces, or it would be smack in the middle when everyone was busy with their own holidays and vacation plans. Still, Rachel liked her birthday season. Snow piled fresh on the ground, stark and white, and it had a clean smell that permeated the air.

During dinner with her dads that night, Rachel noticed that they seemed to be antsier than normal.

“What do you want to do tomorrow, baby? For your birthday?” Her daddy asked, his fingers clasped in front of him, a serious expression in his brow.

“I thought we’re just going to Basil’s, like last year?” Rachel toyed with the gnocchi on her plate.

Her dad’s face fell. “No… other plans?”

“No,” Rachel said through a hard swallow.

“Why don’t you invite your friends? From glee club? We can buy some party trays, it’ll be fun!”

The image of Quinn avoiding her eyes yesterday flashed in Rachel’s mind. “No thank you. I’ve had enough of seeing them at school. It would be a nice reprieve to not see them for a while. May I be excused?”

She did not wait for their assent. She rose, carrying her empty plate to the sink. She drank water and went up to her bedroom to sulk.

Rachel stopped feeling excited for her birthday in the last few years, though she still liked receiving presents, and her dads always got her what she wanted. So when Rachel woke up that following morning, it felt as if it was any other day, another Saturday among many. She felt not a year older, felt no wiser than when she slept last night. But still… there lurked a lingering hope when she checked her phone for any messages that may have come in while she slept.

Blessedly nothing.

Not one notification, text message, nor _email_ save from relatives who only remembered thanks to good ol’ FB. Rachel buried her phone under her pillow, leaving it behind to prepare herself for her day.

After she washed her face and brushed her teeth, she was greeted by a birthday breakfast of waffles and her favourite peach smoothie—which was difficult and near impossible to make if one does not make it out of tinned peaches, it being winter and all. She thanked her dads and kissed them both.

“So we’ll go to Basil’s a little early tonight, okay? It’s Saturday, so they might be full up, you never know,” her daddy said. It reeked of some strange lie since they all knew that Basil’s was _never_ full up. The population of vegans in Lima, or at least those willing to try vegan food, was less than a percentage of the population, after all. “Then we’ll have some frozen yogurt, some cake, and voila!”

“Sounds like a plan, daddy,” Rachel said with the most sincere smile she could muster.

Her dads then gave their birthday gifts: a brand new top of the line microphone, a bedazzling kit, and five hundred dollars. She happily thanked them with big hugs before she looked at the new bedazzling kit.

“I’ll do this today,” she said happily. “Thank you so much!”

She went back to her bedroom to retrieve her preexisting kit. It was in this massive box that once opened, had arms that extended on its either side. Rhinestones of all types, a state of the art glue gun, along with various colours of glue gun sticks sat in neat, organized rows. Before Rachel headed downstairs again, however, she checked her phone.

Still nothing.

It was heartbreaking in and of itself. She thought that Quinn, at least, would remember. Rachel talked big about not caring about her birthdays anymore, after years and years of disappointment, but that sparkling moment of Quinn inviting her to _her_ birthday party filled Rachel with hope. To her understanding, it was a false one.

Since Quinn’s birthday party, she had been invited to others, and she went to every single one, but Quinn’s party was the most memorable—it was her first. And you never forget your first.

Rachel scowled at her phone and buried it again. She did not care—she _wanted_ to not care. But it hurt, for some reason, that Quinn did not think of her long enough to even send her an impersonal greeting — a mere ‘happy birthday Rachel!’ written on her timeline and nothing else. Clearly even _that_ was too much to expect from someone she assumed to be her friend.

She spent the rest of the day bedazzling her brand new microphone which took hours of meticulous work. In keeping her hands busy, she nearly forgot what it was like to be forgotten by your friends, but only nearly. With a few breaks interspersed, along with a birthday lunch, Rachel finished with her bedazzling activities two hours before they had to leave for her birthday dinner.

After a quick shower, Rachel, wrapped in her fluffy pink bathrobe, towel wrapped around her hair, she tested her microphone by singing something by Barbra (obviously). She got dressed in her red and white polka-dot dress, applied some makeup, and headed downstairs a little earlier than when they were supposed to leave. She reached the lowest step and heard her dad on the phone.

“We’re leaving soon-ish. You said you’re down Charleston? I’ll take Balboa so you won’t be seen.”

Rachel blinked but thought nothing of it. Today was just a regular day, after all.

She and her dads dressed in their winter coats. Rachel wrapped her scarf around her neck to protect her neck, and donned her red beret. They drove down the street, not taking their usual route of Charleston, to Rachel’s curious attention.

Her dad drove while she and her daddy sang his ear off. With moments like these, who needs friends and fancy birthday parties that everyone would remember and talk about until they were twenty? Turning into the strip mall where the neon light that read Basil’s was situated, Rachel began to unbuckle her seatbelt.

“Uh oh,” her daddy said, patting first his winter coat pockets, then his pants. “Uh oh,” he said again.

“What’s wrong, ‘Roy?”

“I forgot my wallet,” he wailed. “We must go back home to get it.”

Rachel’s jaw dropped. It was cold, and she was hungry, and she wanted nothing more than to cram vegetable spring rolls drenched in spicy peanut sauce into her mouth. “But—I can pay for it!”

“You? Pay on your birthday? Perish the thought!” Her daddy gasped, and in the corner of Rachel’s eye, she saw her dad slap the flat of his palm against his forehead. “Hiram, my charioteer, please return us to our abode.”

“Lord have mercy,” Rachel’s dad muttered as he drove in reverse and back to the main Lima roads. It took thirty minutes from their house to Basil’s, so by the time they pulled into their driveway, an hour had passed and Rachel was _grumpy_.

“Rachel, my dear, do you mind getting my wallet? It’s in the living room. On the coffee table, most likely.”

With a huff, Rachel stomped out of the car. She fumbled with her house keys before entering the darkness of her house, but something made her pause. It smelled… different.

Like Quinn’s perfume.

She shook her head to rid herself of her thoughts. It was just her brain’s way of making her feel better—or worse, actually, depending on how you look at it. It wanted to give her a reason to miss Quinn so badly that her senses now believed that she was smelling that unique floral scent she associated with the blonde. Rachel kicked off her winter boots and felt her way down the hall. She groped the wall for the living room light switch, flicked it open, and

“Happy birthday!”

Rachel squinted under the soft yellow light in shock. In the middle of her living room stood everyone from glee club, which Rachel only saw in her periphery. What had her attention was Quinn, standing in the middle, carrying a gold balloon shaped like a star. The blonde was beaming, all soft hazel eyes.

“Hey,” she tied the balloon to Rachel’s wrist and procured the same birthday girl tiara Quinn wore during her party. “Happy birthday Rachel—hold on, why do you look so sad?” she asked, panic rising in her voice.

“It’s just,” and then Rachel burst into sobs. She curled into herself and barrelled into Quinn’s chest and the blonde immediately wrapped her arms around her shoulders. “I thought you _forgot!_ ”

Quinn laughed and rubbed the flat of her hand along Rachel’s back in soothing circles over her peacoat. “I’ll explain everything. But first,” she tugged the curtains aside and waved towards Rachel’s dads. They gave Quinn a thumbs up, waved to Rachel, before driving away.

“They were in on this?”

Quinn nodded. She gestured with the plastic crown and Rachel remembered Quinn’s birthday, and oh how her heart lurched. But Quinn was purer in motive than she was. Without pretense, she situated the crown on top of Rachel’s head with a grin. “There. Happy birthday.”

Rachel had to will herself not to show her disappointment.

She finally turned her attention away from Quinn and towards the rest of the glee club who crowded around her for hugs and birthday greetings. On a side table sat trays of food from Basil’s, and a huge slab of chocolate cake with candles stabbed into it.

“Courtesy of Kurt. He made it, just for you,” Quinn explained. “Tina and Mercedes got the food, Mike, Finn, and Sam dealt with decorations. And drinks,” Quinn pointed to the cooler packed with bags of ice, bottles of soda, and wine and vodka coolers. “The rest of us just showed up.”

“Lies,” Mercedes said. “Quinn and Santana planned everything. They were the masterminds of this whole operation.”

“Not like I had a choice. Quinn needed someone to break into your house, so I offered my services. She did all the conniving.”

“You planned this?” Rachel never once left Quinn’s side even though she was starving, even though the smell of the stir-fried noodles made her drool.

“Remember when you walked in the choir room yesterday? I was talking about the logistics of the whole thing.”

“And you were on the phone with my dad earlier, I believe.”

“I was,” Quinn led Rachel to the table laden with food, took a plate for her, and began to fill it. “Are you mad at me?”

“For doing this? No,” Rachel accepted the plate with a soft thank you. “But I _was_ mad earlier that you didn’t think to text me a birthday message which I see now as premature and spiteful of me.”

“Only because I wanted to tell you in person,” Quinn said with a laugh.

Rachel happily ate dinner with her plate on her lap, which hardly mattered because her friends were in her house, and they seemed happy to be there. Once everyone finished eating, they gathered around Rachel again while Quinn lit the candles of her cake. They sang happy birthday, off-beat and off-key, applauding when Rachel blew the candles in one breath. Then she began to slice the cake and handed them out.

“I’m surprised you’re going to eat it,” Rachel teased when Quinn took her share of the cake.

“It looks… edible.”

“Gee, Quinn, thanks!” Kurt quipped.

“I didn’t mean it like that!”

Brittany found the microphone for the karaoke machine, which she immediately booted up. Everyone keyed in a song they wanted to sing, while Rachel sat back, happy enough to just watch. Besides, she was too full to sing, and happy enough to just sit beside Quinn while she picked at her birthday cake.

  
“Ugh, when are we going to get some booze up in here?” Santana made a pitcher of mixed drinks and that was the beginning of the end.

+

The rest of the night was a blur thanks to the haphazard way Santana mixed the alcoholic drinks, but at least she had enough awareness to do the same thing she did for Quinn’s party. She took everyone’s keys and locked it in a box, then tossed the key _somewhere_. Rachel had the presence of mind to not drink too much because she wanted to remember the party as a glittering crystal moment of her youth.

It was late now, and while most of the glee club lay passed out on the living room floor, Quinn sat on the piano bench and tinkered with the keys. Rachel sat beside her and leaned her head against Quinn’s shoulder. “Thank you for everything.”

“It was easy. Your dads were immediately on board when I mentioned my plans to throw you a party and that made things so much more simple.”

“Not just that,” Rachel murmured. “You took the time to plan it. It’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

Quinn smiled and rested her cheek against the top of Rachel’s head. “What did you wish for, when you blew out your candles?”

Rachel blinked. “Oh. I forgot.”

“You _forgot_ to make a wish?” Quinn asked, incredulous.

“I didn’t feel like I needed to wish for something. It’s like I had everything I ever wanted at the moment.”

Quinn was silent before she chuckled. “You’re a simple girl with simple wants, it seems.”

“That I am. And if I did make a wish and told you, won’t it make it not come true?” Rachel pointed out. “Although, if I did make a wish and it was within your scope of granting it, then _maybe_ I would tell you.”

It was true that she did not have the presence of mind to make a wish when she blew out her candles, but now, sitting on the piano bench with Quinn, the haze of the alcohol softening the lights, the edges of her vision, the warmth of her body mixed with Quinn’s… It still felt unnecessary to make a wish for she was not in want of anything. As Rachel thought about it, allowing Quinn’s soft piano playing to lull her into a state of blissful exhaustion, affection for the people sprawled across her living room floor, for the girl who sat beside her, bloomed inside her chest and brought tears to her eyes.

She sniffed once and Quinn stiffened. Glanced at Rachel’s direction and pulled back to witness her crying. “I didn’t expect you to cry so much during your surprise birthday party,” Quinn said gently. “But I get it. Your birthdays must have been lonely—I remember when you mentioned that you never had a birthday party with friends before, and I just thought since you have friends now, it seems silly not to invite them for a party, you know?” After a beat, Quinn said, “Why _didn’t_ you invite us for a party?”

“I was afraid no one would show up,” Rachel sobbed.

Quinn sighed and wrapped an arm around Rachel’s shoulder, which she took as an invitation to burrow into the crook of Quinn’s neck. “I don’t blame you for thinking that way. If I was the same person as I was last year, I certainly would’ve done that and I’m sorry for being an asshole.”

“You’re making up for it. _More_ than making up for it,” Rachel looked at Quinn in the low light and she faintly wondered if this – the way she looked at Quinn – was the look of love that slowed time and sped moments into vanishing within a blink. She swallowed the hesitation in her throat. “You’re a great friend, Quinn.”

“Yeah, well,” Quinn lowered her arm so it no longer curled around Rachel’s frame. “It’s the least I can do, right?”

It was a minute change, but a change nonetheless. Quinn focused her attention on the ivory keys now, when not five minutes ago she played the entirety of Canon in D without looking at her hands once. Rachel admired Quinn’s profile - always a sight to behold with its classic face structure, the epitome of beauty. Quinn’s face was familiar; Rachel could trace it in her sleep, but there was something arresting in her eyes in how she avoided looking into Rachel’s face.

“Do you want to get ready for bed?” Rachel blurted out.

“Sure,” Quinn rose and together - with just the two of them - they went upstairs so that they could change out of their clothes and into a more comfortable attire, courtesy of Rachel’s closet. But rather than return downstairs with the rest of glee club, Rachel ushered Quinn into her own bedroom with its cream yellow walls, the made bed, the stuffed toys perched in a row by the headboard.

“I don’t like to sleep on the floor,” Rachel reasoned.

“You slept on the floor at my house.”

“Yes, but I had no choice then,” one by one, Rachel moved her plush toys to sit on top of her desk. She peeled back the covers and slid underneath. She looked at Quinn expectantly above the covers.

“You want me to – ? Alright,” she sighed and crawled into bed beside Rachel. “You’re lucky it’s your birthday.”

Rachel giggled and did a little horizontal jig, legs flailing about. “I can set an alarm if you like. So we can pretend this never happened,” she murmured softly. When Quinn did not respond, Rachel reached for her phone, set her alarm for five in the morning, hoping that everyone would be too hungover to wake up that early so they could sneak back downstairs and pretend they had been sleeping with the glee club puppy pile all night long.

The clock read an hour after midnight and Rachel could feel the lateness in her heavy eyelids, but she could not close her eyes – not when Quinn was so close. It would be like having the sun rise but choosing not to look. The heat from their bodies created its own humidity under the blanket, and paired with the cold air outside of the blanket, it formed a delicious contrast in temperature. Rachel shivered.

“Cold?”

“A little. My nose,” she said with a giggle.

“Did you have a good birthday?”

There was a hint of trepidation, of uncertainty in Quinn’s tone that furrowed Rachel’s brow. “Yes. The best birthday yet.”

“Really?” Quinn lit up, and Rachel would willingly be honest if it meant seeing the blonde’s eyes bright like that.

Rachel swallowed hard. Earlier, she did not want anything, not when she blew out her candles. But now, in the space of her bed shared with Quinn, she could only think of one thing she could possibly ask for – something that Quinn and _only_ Quinn could grant.

“Yes, really. I’ve grown not to have expectations for my birthdays - why should I since it’s just another day in the calendrical year? It has no inherent value and it’s better to think of it as such rather than put too much stock in it. My dads don’t think that way, of course, but…”

“I never thought to hear something like that coming from you,” Quinn said in disbelief. “I thought you’re special?”

“I am,” Rachel insisted. “But out of my own virtues, talents, skills. Not because I’m born on this specific day.”

“That’s where you’re missing the point. This _day_ is special because out of the days in the year, it was on this day, seventeen years ago, that you were born, kicking and screaming with those lungs you have.”

As Quinn spoke, the passion in her eyes was undeniable. Another ache soldered through Rachel’s heart and it _hurt_ – almost to the point of tears. It was a new thing to see someone who was not her dads who, in some ways were obligated to feel this way about her birthday, be so passionate in arguing against Rachel’s indifference to the day.

“You’re crying again,” Quinn said softly. She brought her hand to Rachel’s cheek and thumbed at the corner of her eyes. Rachel closed her eyes against the touch and sniffled. She pressed her lips to the inside of Quinn’s palm. “I’m starting to think throwing you a party is a bad idea if it makes you cry this much.”

“It’s not _bad_ crying,” Rachel mumbled. She wanted Quinn so much closer that it was starting to scare her. With a handful of minutes left until her birthday was officially over, she wondered, “since it’s my birthday, you’ll grant any of my wishes, right?”

“It depends if I can. Like, I’m not going to get Barbra to record a personal message for you because one, it’s late, and two, I’m sure she’s busy.”

Rachel giggled. “No, I won’t ask that of you, though that would be nice to have. But I mean,” she swallowed hard, throat suddenly dry, heart suddenly racing inside her chest to the point of nausea. “You’re the only one who I want granting this wish.”

“Uh oh,” Quinn teased. “What in the world could it be?”

But Rachel could not bring herself to say it. With urgency laced with hesitation, she grabbed a handful of Quinn’s shirt. She shifted closer against the blonde’s body, her pale skin so hot, so volcanic to the touch – or was it Rachel’s own temperature, boiling to the point of discomfort, with how Quinn’s hand now rested against her hip?

There she stood at the same fork in the road she faced during Quinn’s birthday party, when the option presented itself to her. She never thought that kissing Quinn was a possibility, and since then, she thought about the prospect day and night. The potential coloured her interactions with the blonde, painting them with hope and despair in equal measure.

Should she, or should she not?

Rachel looked into Quinn’s eyes and saw not what she expected – which was disgust, annoyance, repulsion.

Instead, she saw loving, longing eyes.

And maybe Rachel was only seeing what she wanted to see, what she was sure was being displayed in her own eyes, in her own face. With two minutes left on the clock of her birthday, Rachel kissed Quinn.

She did not realize that it was all she wanted for her birthday.

“Did you know,” Quinn murmured in the low light of three in the morning. “It only took eight months for _my_ birthday wish to come true?”

Rachel blinked, stunned. “I don’t know how you can stand to be so patient, biding your time like that.”

“Yes, well… Some things are worth the wait.”

Blushing, Rachel gripped a handful of Quinn’s shirt and kissed her again.

+

Quinn had no idea who fell asleep first, or at what time. All she knew was that she kept granting Rachel’s birthday wish, again and again, despite it not being her birthday anymore. She cracked open a heavy eyelid and saw the top of Rachel’s head, her cheek resting against the hollow of Quinn’s chest. Her arm curved around Rachel’s shoulders, the dark-haired girl’s hand was up Quinn’s shirt to rest on her stomach.

Reaching for Rachel’s phone, Quinn cancelled any and all alarms and went back to sleep.

+

The obscene brightness of the winter sun filtering through the gap of her curtains stirred Rachel from her sleep. Memories of last night were impossible to shake off and she grinned to herself. She tightened her arms around Quinn and sighed, content.

She jerked awake. It was late. And they were still in bed. _Together_.

A soft knock on her door made her heart jump as she scrambled to sit up. “Y-yes?” Rachel croaked.

“Can I open the door or are you not decent?”

Rachel’s shoulders sagged in relief when she heard Mike’s voice. Discreet, private Mike, who can keep a secret. “You can.”

He opened the door, a pancake in his hand. He grinned but said nothing about how Rachel’s hair was messed, how Quinn had her arms around Rachel’s waist, her face burrowed against her hip. “There are pancakes downstairs. Your dads made a post-birthday breakfast, except we couldn’t find the post-birthday girl this morning, so…”

“We’ll be right down,” Rachel said, blushing.

Mike left and Rachel took that opportunity to calm her galloping heart. Quinn opened an eye and yawned. “Did I hear him right? Did he say pancakes?”

Rachel watched Quinn sit up, watched her stretch while trying her hardest not to be distracted by the sliver of skin that peeked from the hem of her shirt. “How can you be so calm about this? We slept through the alarm! Now people surely have a narrative inside their heads about us!”

“I turned off the alarm.”

“What?!”

“At this point, don’t you think they already have their own ideas about us?” Quinn pointed out. “Well, about me, anyway. Why would I, your supposed tormentor, someone who’s supposed to hate you, throw you a birthday party without any catch?”

Rachel blinked. “Oh.”

“I can’t help what anyone thinks of me or my motives, and at this point, I don’t care to.”

“What _were_ your motives?”

Quinn raised her brow. “I thought that was obvious.”

In that morning light, with Quinn in her clothes, Rachel could not help but blush. “You – I – we…”

“Are you just listing pronouns?” Quinn teased, “or will you form a coherent thought at some point?”

“Leave me alone; I haven’t had my coffee,” she grumbled.

Laughing, Quinn offered her hand to Rachel which she took without hesitation. “Then let’s go downstairs so you can have some.”

+

No one said anything when Quinn and Rachel reached the foot of the stairs, though Santana and Mike grinning to themselves was enough of an indication that they had certain assumptions that Rachel would neither confirm nor deny. The entirety of glee club gathered around the breakfast island, around Hiram who happily flipped pancakes. “There she is! You had a late start this morning, huh?”

“Only because _someone_ ,” Rachel nudged Quinn with her hip. “Turned off all my phone alarms.”

“You weren’t complaining when you were snoring right next to my ear.” Quinn muttered while she stirred her coffee before she handed the mug to Rachel. She accepted with a shyness while she lost herself in the secrecy of Quinn’s smile. Every look, every glance now meant so much to Rachel, had a new layer of meaning she never thought about for too long. It all felt impossible, still – too good to be true.

After breakfast, the rest of glee club left, bidding Rachel goodbye. Each of them shot Quinn a look. Quinn who, still dressed in Rachel’s clothes, did not seem to show signs of leaving. Quinn, who sat with Leroy, drinking coffee while they discussed property tax values and planting lavender bushes along the edge of the Berry lawn.

Rachel waved goodbye as the last of her friends departed then returned to the kitchen just as Quinn stood up in the midst of draining the coffee from her cup. “I better get going. I’m sure you have things you need to do.” she told Rachel.

“Not really,” Rachel mumbled. She followed Quinn upstairs so she could get her clothes from last night. While she changed in the bathroom, Rachel paced and started to wonder. _Maybe_ started to doubt.

“Do you have plans for winter break?” Quinn asked, dressed once again in her white cable-knit sweater, her long heavy skirt.

“No - just homework and movies, I suppose.” Rachel said, sulking.

Quinn laughed softly and tipped Rachel’s face to meet her eyes. “Is that so? Can I take you on a date? Would it be too soon to say tomorrow night?”

This was precisely what Rachel wanted, but that did not mean she would not be flustered. She blushed and bit her lip. “Yes, but wait – you’re not asking because it was my birthday and you know it’s one of my many wishes, right?”

“It’s not your birthday anymore,” Quinn pointed out. After a beat, she grinned. “One of your many wishes, huh?”

“Yes – don’t be smug. And tomorrow night is not soon enough, if I’m being honest.”

Quinn kissed her again, and eventually Rachel – begrudgingly – let her go. She watched her leave and disappear down the street while she lingered on the porch steps with a chest that pined for Quinn once more. This was the first of her birthdays that she wished did not end, wanted the cause of wanting the moment to stretch forever to return, to be with her once again.

Still – despite the longing, despite the aching heart…

Best. Birthday. Ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How the hell did the fandom even find out that Rachel was born on December 18? Her fandom wikipage has no citations!


End file.
